


A Recipe for Love

by Sierra_Butterfly



Category: iZombie (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 02:06:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12784611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sierra_Butterfly/pseuds/Sierra_Butterfly
Summary: A Pinch of Attraction; A Dash of Liquid Courage; A Spoonful of Trust; and a Heap of Desire... Seattle PD has a Christmas Party. One thing leads to another, and two years later Clive and Liv have a happiliy ever after.





	A Recipe for Love

**Author's Note:**

> Hi again, here's another Clive/Liv 'fic. This is set at some arbitrary point in the series, where D-Day never happened and Ravi's vaccine against the transmission of the zombie virus worked. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**A Pinch of Attraction**

“It’s Christmas Eve, Babineaux, why don’t you head over to the Christmas party?”

Clive cursed under his breath and sat up a bit straighter in an attempt to mask the weariness that clung to his frame, as well as the fact that he’d been five seconds from dozing off at his desk. He doubted his Lieutenant would sound so cheery if she’d caught him sleeping at the precinct. 

A moment later, he processed what the woman said and he blinked. Christmas Eve? Was it really Tuesday? 

His days were messed up; over the past two weeks, there had been more homicides than the whole last month combined, and it had put him working sixty hours a week at the minimum. Even more taxing than the sheer time commitment had been the emotional roller coaster. Five of the eight victims had been children under the age of thirteen, and the combined cases had all the markings of a serial killer’s handiwork. 

He heard his Devore sigh, followed by the slow _clicks_ of her heels as she walked up to his desk, leaning against it. She fixed him with a hard stare and folded her arms over her chest. “That’s an order, detective. Don’t make me take you off these cases because you’re not taking care of yourself.” 

Clive barely stopped himself from commenting that he’d rather go home and drink on his own than attend the precinct’s annual Christmas party--it would only hurt his rocky relationship with his Lieutenant, so instead he nodded and forced a smile. If he expected her to accept his passive acceptance then he was sorely mistaken, as she didn’t move until he pushed back his seat and stood, grabbing his brown leather jacket. 

When he started to walk away, she spoke again, “Clive?” 

Brows furrowed, he glanced over his shoulder. Since when did his Lieutenant call him by his first name? Literally the only people in the department that he was on a first name basis with was Liv and Ravi, and nearly a year ago with Dale. 

“I know it’s none of my business, but it’s been a year since you’ve dated anyone.” She paused, and Clive wondered if she saw the filtered pain in his eyes. “Try and put yourself out there. I think it’d do you some good to have someone to go home to at the end of the day.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he murmured, nodding his head in a brief goodbye while contemplating his Lieutenant’s words. 

Even as he got in his car and drove to the event center the party was being held at, her words rattled around his head. She made it sound simple, as though women were simply waiting outside the precinct doors, and yet if Clive were honest with himself, it wouldn’t be hard for him to find someone to date. Hell, how many times had he declined drinks with some of their officers? Or patrons at the select few bars that he visited? 

The fact of the of the matter was that Clive was a badger of self-inflicted agony. He had fallen head over heels for Dale--she was beautiful, strong, and a total hardass, yet she had a softer side that he’d been fortunate enough to see. It had only been in the past six months that he’d come to terms with the idea that they would never rekindle what they once had. Furthermore, it had only been in the past _couple_ of months that he’d allowed himself to consider other women--to give up on the wayward hope that Dale would be called back on another case, and he’d have the opportunity to plead his case--and what had he done? 

He found another woman to slowly fall in love with; a woman that he had no business falling for, and a woman he knew didn’t feel the same. 

A woman with platinum blonde hair that framed her pale, round face; with cheeks that never flushed with color and bright blue eyes that were more expressive than any he’d seen before. A woman whose superficial personality fluctuated on a weekly basis, yet on a core level she never lost the desire to help others, no matter the cost to herself. 

Easily the strongest woman--and without a doubt the strangest--that he’d ever met. 

Liv Moore: Seattle PD’s assistant medical examiner and local zombie--although the latter fact was unbeknownst to most. Clive had no doubt that if he’d been in the same situation as her-- dream career whisked away and zombie-ism thrust upon him--that he would not have made the best of it, as she had. He wasn’t sure if he’d even been able to live with himself. 

And here he found himself painstakingly in love with her. 

_Get your ass in there, Clive. The sooner you go in, the sooner you can leave._

Clive sighed and took a minute to look over himself, straightening his tie and slipping off his leather jacket, leaving him in a navy blue suit and a plum colored collared undershirt. He tried to tell himself he wasn’t stalling--tried to convince himself he wasn’t double checking his appearance because he knew Liv would be in there. When his attempts failed, he muttered something under his breath and got out of the car, repositioning his concealed holster so it hung more comfortably beneath his suit jacket. 

_An hour tops, and you can go home and get some shut-eye._ Fortunately for him, tomorrow was his day-off, and he’d already been threatened with mandatory administrative leave if he didn’t take the day to wind down. The cases would be there waiting for him when he got back. 

He forced himself to take a deep breath, released it slowly through parted lips, and strode into the event center, confirming his name and association with Seattle PD at the entryway before slipping inside. 

Clive walked no more than fifteen feet inside the event center before he paused, taking in the grandeur of the setup. It had been a few years since he’d gone to one of the Christmas parties; most years he’d drawn the lucky straw and had found himself on one operation or another, usually undercover. Last year, he’d been making an arrest. A year before that, he’d been finishing up an undercover operation relating to the Blue Cobras. In the years since he’d gone to one of these parties, the magnitude of everything had only increased. 

The event center was designed for upward of a thousand guests, and nearly eight hundred were present, the sheer quantity of law enforcement personnel in Seattle PD making itself apparent in the roaming men and women, all dressed for the occasion. The numbers were even greater since almost everyone had brought a plus one.

Despite the large crowd, it didn’t feel crowded. 

The room had been partitioned off well, with the dance floor large enough to accommodate everyone interested in dancing, without an overestimation on just how many people would be inclined to partake. Aside from the dance floor there were long tables positioned throughout the room, bolstering various comfort foods and pastries, and three bars, likely specializing in one liquor or another, were stationed accordingly. Although Clive couldn’t see the sound system or DJ, the low thrum of music weaved through the crowds, the transitions between songs nearly imperceivable while the taste in music was unobtrusive, even to Clive, who maintained extreme selectivity when it came to good music. 

Rather than attempting to scan the crowds for a familiar face, Clive made his way to the nearest bar, craving a cool glass of whiskey. Maybe once he had some alcohol buzzing through his veins he would feel more inclined to strike up a conversation with someone--preferably one of his friends, rather than a random officer. 

Once he had a glass in hand, he wandered far enough away from the bar that more people could move in and make their own requests. In his pocket, his phone buzzed and he pulled it out immediately. A part of him was hopeful for a lead on one of his cases, but he was far from disappointed when he saw Liv’s name flash on the screen, a simple text appearing below her name: _Look up, three o’clock_. 

With a small smirk, Clive looked up, dark brown gaze sweeping the cluster of people in the direction Liv indicated until he locked onto the familiar, platinum blonde hair of the woman in question no more than fifty feet away. As she walked towards him, he considered her, and in a moment of weakness and exhaustion, he let his gaze linger far too long, slowly dragging down the length of her body. 

She was wearing a crimson red dress, and while one might expect the color to emphasize her paleness, it did the opposite, seeming to add a dash of color in her cheeks. Though the neckline was modest, barely dipping low enough to offer a glimpse of her cleavage, the silken material clung to her curves, complimenting the tone of her body. Just above her knees, the material tapered off asymmetrically. Unlike most women at the party, Liv wore comfortable looking flats, giving her a grace that even those experienced in walking with heels lacked. 

His chest ached and Clive forced himself to glance away, gripping his glass a bit tighter as he brought it to his lips. The whiskey burned the back of his throat, providing enough of a distraction that he could shove the attraction and desire singing through his veins to the corners of his mind. 

“You look handsome,” Liv said, eyes twinkling with amusement, though at what, Clive was unsure. 

He grinned, pretending that his cheeks weren’t hotter than they’d been twenty seconds earlier. “And you’re beautiful,” he told her honestly. It was true, and he was far from the only one to notice it. In the short time that Liv had found him, Clive had already noted several others eyeing her, and he suspected the only reason none of her potential suitors had come said anything as of yet was because he was standing there. 

Liv stumbled as she crossed the five feet separating them, and on impulse Clive caught her, arm wrapping around her waist while her hands caught his forearm. He felt her cool skin beneath his fingers as he learned of the small circle revealing her lower back. In her proximity, he could smell the faint floral scent of her perfume, and he swallowed his arousal, laughing quietly. “And you’ve been drinking,” he commented, catching those blue orbs with his brown ones. 

She smiled cheekily and gathered her balance again, winking conspiratorially. “Well the alcohol _is_ free,” she pointed out. 

Clive snorted, then realized belatedly that he still had his arm around her waist and he pulled back, rolling his lower lip between his teeth as he gazed out into the crowds. “You came with Peyton and Ravi, didn’t you?” He knew better than to assume either of those two were sober. Peyton could drink just about any of them under the table, and yet Ravi would try his damndest to keep up with that woman. His embarrassment at holding her too long faded quickly as his lips were pulled into a smirk. “Well, it’s a good thing I don’t plan on drinking too much,” and it was true; his plan even coming into the party was to stay sober enough to drive himself home--and given this was a police department Christmas party, the requirement to get in the driver’s seat was a passed breathalyzer test. 

“You’re the best!” Liv said, then sighed happily and leaned into Clive, swaying gently with the music. “Why were you late?” she asked after a moment. 

“I was working on case stuff,” he explained, glancing down ever so slightly to see the furrow between her brows. 

“I could have stayed back to help,” she pointed out, thinly concealed concern staring back at him. “Clive--”

“Ah, Babineaux and Ms. Moore.” 

Both of them looked up at their names, only to see Detective Cavanaugh walking up to them, flicking his gaze between the two of them with a small grin. “Nice to see some familiar faces here,” he took a long gulp from his own glass. With his free hand, he gestured between the two of them and arched a brow. “Is it safe for me to assume you’ve been spoken for, Ms. Moore, or can I invited you for a dance?” 

Clive repressed the urge to scowl and instead glanced away. It wasn’t his business if Liv chose to dance with Cavanaugh, even if the mental image sent his stomach knotting painfully. 

“Sorry, Cavanaugh, I’m sticking with Clive,” Liv said, and Clive bit his lower lip to stop himself from grinning. 

Cavanaugh chuckled. “Just maybe your friend was right, then,” he said, and rather than elaborate he wandered off again, weaving through groups of people until eventually Clive lost sight of the other detective altogether. 

_What’s that supposed to mean?_ Clive wondered absently as Liv started pulling on his arm to guide him somewhere else, presumably to wherever Peyton and Ravi were. 

****

**A Dash of Liquid Courage**

Clive’s head spun as he tried to recall the name of the song that was playing, the bass thrumming through his bones as his senses steadily became hyper aware of everything--there was no way he was getting out of there tonight without the party monitors calling him an uber. So much for driving his friends home that evening.

At some point Liv, Peyton, Ravi, and he had found themselves standing next to one of the snack tables, eating pastries and sushi rolls, despite the fact that Clive usually hated sushi and was only really eating because he had neglected to eat a proper meal that day. 

_I’m going to be so hungover tomorrow._

But it was a whisper of a thought that faded the same moment Peyton returned with a fifth glass of whiskey, as well as another glass of wine for Liv. Clive no longer knew if Liv was so drunk that she _needed_ to lean against him for support, or if she was just comfortable where she was, but he found he didn’t care. He liked the softness of her skin beneath his fingers as he kept one arm wrapped firmly around her waist, fingertips gently grazing her bare back with small, repetitive circles. 

He accepted the glass of whiskey with an appreciative smile, clinking his glass against theirs as they cheered to something before taking a small sip and setting it on the nearby table. A new song started playing and Liv perked up at his side. “This is my favorite song!” she said, eyes burning with excitement as she stood a bit straighter, though a bit wobbly. 

The part of Clive’s brain that still functioned somewhat normally processed that it was a slow song--one that he recognized as a hit from the 90’s, while the muddled part of his brain gave him courage. “Would you like to dance, Liv?” he asked softly. 

“I’d love to,” she said, brandishing a rare, full smile as she glanced up, spinning out of his grip as she tugged him closer to the dance floor. He followed, heart beating a bit faster in his chest while his stomach filled with nervous energy. 

Once Liv found a spot that she seemed satisfied with, she came to a sudden stop and Clive found himself chuckling, chewing his lower lip as she wound her arms behind his neck and brought herself closer to him. On instinct, he wrapped his arms around her waist, managing to pull her just a little bit closer. Their foreheads nearly touched as they swayed with the music, neither of them moving more than a couple inches either way, while Clive struggled to calm his racing heart. Happiness and nerves left his blood hot in his veins, while he struggled to focus on anything more than the warmth of her breath against his lips or the agonizing softness of her skin against his hands. 

The temptation to separate the distance between them and bring his lips to hers left him wavering, only the thinnest tendril of control keeping him from committing. Closing his eyes, Clive forced himself to breathe, but her perfume left him even more intoxicated, desire shooting through his body like electricity. 

A distant part of him processed that the song had ended and the song that was playing now was the furthest thing from a slow song, and they probably looked a little ridiculous still slow dancing, but that part of him was easily dismissed, especially when he opened his eyes and found desire staring back at him, Liv’s pupils contracting ever so slightly. 

The distance was gone. 

Clive pressed his lips against hers and he nearly groaned at the sweet relief, his eyes fluttering closed as he weaved one hand through her hair. He ran his tongue along her lower lip, tasting the sugary residue of the pastries they’d eaten earlier, and felt her tremble beneath his fingers. 

Clapping entered his subconscious, and reluctantly he pulled back, wanting nothing more than to sweep Liv away and continue elsewhere. Slowly, they became aware of people around them, all smiling and a few of them even clapping. 

“It’s about time,” someone called out, and Clive thought he recognized Cavanaugh’s voice again. 

His cheeks flushed, but he found himself chuckling, flicking his gaze back to Liv’s to find she had never stopped watching him. To his surprise, her cheeks had the faintest touch of red, while her lips were parted, breaths escaping softly. 

****

**A Spoonful of Trust**

Clive and Liv hadn’t been able to find Peyton and Ravi, though honestly they didn’t look especially hard, before they stumbled to the exit. Clive kept his arm firmly around Liv’s waist, despite his own unsteadiness, and as he expected, they were stopped by the monitors.

He smirked. “No breathalyzer necessary,” Clive said, trying to recall whether he recognized the monitor--it seemed unlikely, most of the monitors were high school students participating in the explorer program. This one looked younger than the others, with dark blonde hair and every ounce of baby fat concealing his jawline. “We need an uber.” Technically, he only lived a few blocks away, but in the state they were in, that ten minute walk could easily turn into an hour, and he desperately wanted to kiss Liv without a crowd. 

Fifteen minutes later they were in front of Clive’s apartment, though they were making slow efforts to actually get inside. Instead, Liv’s back was pressed against the door, Clive’s lips molded against hers while her fingers dug into his back through his suit. There was zero space separating them, and Clive was positive she could feel just how much he wanted her. 

“Get inside before I call the cops for public indecency!” 

Clive pulled back a fraction, recognizing the voice of his next door neighbor, and while he knew he should care about the threat--or the fact that he and Liv were making out in front of an elderly woman--he barely found himself caring enough to dig in his pocket for the key to his apartment.

The moment they slipped inside, Clive walked Liv against the wall, heart thumping painfully in his chest as he leaned his forehead against hers. His lips slanted with hers, his focus slowly migrating until he suckled the sensitive skin of her neck, drawing soft moans from her. 

_This can’t go much further_ , he thought, ignoring the ache in his core at the idea of stopping this. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” Clive murmured against her skin. 

Liv hummed, pulling him until they stood in front of the couch. She kept just enough distance between them that she could drag her gaze up and down his body, lower lip caught between her teeth as she slowly slipped her hands beneath his suit jacket, pushing it off his shoulders until it fell on the couch behind him. 

Raw desire shot through his spine as she ran her fingers down his chest with barely enough pressure for him to feel her touch through his shirt. She brought her fingers lower, every inch closer to his aching core sending a soft thrum of pleasure through him, causing his stomach to tighten in apprehension. 

“Liv,” he murmured, dragging one hand up her back, lightly weaving into her hair while he slowly brought his other hand down her back, until he palmed her rounded cheek. The soft mewl that escaped her parted lips was all it took; Clive swept her off her feet, slowly lowering her to the couch before pressing slow kisses from her lips, to her jawline, down her neck. 

_Stop, think, what are you doing?_ he thought, forcing himself to slow down, despite Liv rolling her hips against his, sending slow waves of pleasure shuddering through his tense muscles. When she started to unbutton his shirt reality snapped into place. 

Clive groaned against her neck, but he held her hip a little tighter, halting her agonizing movements long enough that he could think. He swallowed the desire that threatened to remove every ounce of control, and slowly he met her gaze, searching. “We’re drunk,” he said quietly, voice raspy. 

“We both want this,” Liv murmured, leaning forward and pressing her lips against his with earnest. 

Clive felt his control waver, but he steeled himself, putting a bit more distance between them. “I know I do,” he told her. “If you still do in the morning, then I swear we won’t leave the bed, but you’re drunk.” 

“So are you,” Liv pointed out, lower lip pressed out in a small pout.

His gaze was drawn to her pout, and he forced himself to pull back altogether. The loss of contact was like a bucket of cold water, and guilt coiled low in his belly. If this went any further, he wouldn’t forgive himself. Even if they were both drunk, risking the trust between them would destroy any chance they had in the long run--and Clive desperately wanted to be with Liv for the long haul. 

It seemed the loss of contact had evaporated some of the desire driving Liv as well, and though she still pouted, hurt steered clear from her expression. “Fine, but you’re mine in the morning,” she murmured and Clive glared at her without any seriousness. She was playing with him now.

****

**A Heap of Desire**

Warm water slowly worked out the kinks in his muscles as he stood under the shower stream, the events of last night playing through his mind. Panic sung low in his belly as he contemplated whether the woman still asleep in his bed would wake up horrified by what happened last night, or if she would feel the same this morning.

He hoped desperately for the latter, but he was too afraid to get his hopes up, so instead he stayed in the shower for longer than was reasonable, and when he knew he was at risk of taking all the hot water he reluctantly got out, threw on a pair of shorts and a tee shirt, and went to the kitchen to scrounge around for things to cook for breakfast. 

Midway through cooking omelets, he heard the shower turn on again, followed by a soft shriek and Clive smirked to himself. By now, he was used to the quirks of his apartment, including the tendency of the shower to spew hot water, followed by a short burst of cold water, before returning to a satisfying temperature. 

Ten minutes later, the omelets were finished and Clive was contemplating whether to cook something else, more to keep himself occupied than anything, but he eventually decided against it, instead pouring two glasses of orange juice. He replaced the carton in the fridge, and when he turned around again he found Liv walking towards him, hair still dripping slightly. 

He froze, stomach tightening. 

Liv was wearing one of his tee shirts, the hem of it barely reaching her upper-mid thigh. Otherwise, she was completely bare, her toned legs smooth and inviting, and as Clive caught her gaze, he felt a disorienting mixture of relief and desire flood his veins. “I think you promised we wouldn’t leave the bed today?” she asked, lips quirked in a small grin. 

****

**A Recipe for Love**

|Two Years Later|

“Do you, Clive Babineaux, take Olivia Moore, as your lawfully wedded wife?”

Clive smiled, considering his beautiful friend, partner, and now wife. “I do.”

“And do you, Olivia Moore, take Clive Babineaux, as your lawfully wedded husband?” 

“I do,” she said immediately. 

“Then by the power invested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife,” Ravi paused, grinning as he glanced between Clive and Liv, both watching him with an arched brow. “You may kiss the bride,” he finished. 

Gently, Clive cupped Liv’s cheek and pressed his lips to hers, and cheers erupted in the room.


End file.
